The Middle Man
by dust on the wind
Summary: Being on the same side is not the same as fighting for the same cause.


_I do not own any of the characters from the series Hogan's Heroes. However, I claim ownership of any original characters appearing in this story._

_Willy and Jenny are canon; they appeared in "The Flame Grows Higher" (Season 1)._

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><p>From Hammelburg to Felsbrunnen was a distance of just twenty-seven kilometres, but sometimes the drive seemed to go on forever. It didn't help that the headlights on the little black car were heavily shielded; the risk of being seen by enemy bombers passing overhead was excuse enough. But on this lonely road, hemmed with pine trees so closely crowded that their branches seemed inextricably tangled, the faint glow scarcely seemed able to cut through the heavy fabric of the night.<p>

"How much farther is it?" asked the passenger in the front seat.

"Not far," replied the driver. "Don't talk to me. I need to concentrate, otherwise I'll drive us straight into a tree."

The road curved around, following the line of the river until it turned to cross the newly-repaired wooden bridge. At sight of the checkpoint, and the two soldiers on duty, the passenger caught his breath. "Another one, Herr Wachmann," he whispered. "And there's no way around it this time."

"Stay calm," the driver growled. "This is just routine. As long as you don't give the game away by acting like a fugitive, they won't give us any trouble. You should know that by now. You'd better wake your brother."

The young man leaned over the back of the seat. "Martin, wake up!"

"I'm awake," mumbled Martin. "What...where are we, Alex?"

"We'll be there soon," said the man they knew as Hans Wachmann. "But first we have to get past the checkpoint."

"Will they ask for papers?" asked Alex. He spoke brusquely, but Wachmann let it pass, aware of the fear which lay beneath the young man's tough front.

"They will ask for mine," he said, with a faint, ironic smile. "Once they see my identification, they'll be happy to let us pass. And if not, I'll think of something."

His two companions had no doubts. They had already seen him in action.

The car drew to a halt in front of the barrier, and Wachmann wound down the window and directed a fierce glare at the soldier who had approached. "Well? Why have we been stopped?"

"All persons travelling this road are required to identify themselves," the sentry replied, insolent in both tone and manner. "Your papers, please."

Wachmann's eyes narrowed. "Do you know who you are talking to?"

It made no impression on the soldier. "I will know, when I have seen your papers," he said, with a contemptuous smirk.

Wachmann glowered for a few moments longer; then he gave a short laugh, and produced a small metal disc, suspended on a chain, from inside his coat. "Is this satisfactory?"

The sentry shone his flashlight on it, stooping to peer at the badge. The change in his attitude a few seconds later was so sudden as to be ridiculous. "Sir...sir, please forgive...if I'd known...it's just, with so much sabotage in the area..."

"I know all about that," Wachmann interrupted. "May we proceed?"

As the car passed through the checkpoint and went on its way, Martin gave a slightly hysterical giggle. "Who does he think you are?" he asked.

"Gestapo," said Wachmann, with a grim smile. "It's one sure way to get past almost anyone, as long as your warrant disc looks authentic. Mine was made by someone who knows exactly how they should look."

He glanced in the rear-view mirror, but it was too dark to tell how the boy was holding up. He was the younger of the two, barely seventeen; and the long years he and his brother had lived in hiding had taken a toll on his health. Still, at least the two of them had survived; so many of their people were already beyond saving.

"Just a few more minutes now." Wachmann leaned forward a little, his eyes straining to see the break in the trees. A few seconds later, Alex gave a startled grunt, as the car abruptly changed direction, swerving onto the narrow track which led to the farmhouse where the next stage of the journey would begin.

From here on, the ride became much rougher. Most traffic to and from the farm came from another direction; this approach was used only by those who wanted their coming and going to remain undetected, and in consequence it had been allowed, by intention, to fall into neglect. Wachmann, having traversed it frequently in the last few months, knew the location of every pothole, but some of them were unavoidable. Alex clung to the hanging strap and rode it out; Martin slid onto the floor. He didn't complain, but Wachmann slowed down as much as he dared, and finally brought the car to a standstill at the edge of the woods.

"There is the house," he said.

Alex leaned forward, squinting. The building could just be made out, its white-washed walls showing almost imperceptibly paler than the surrounding dark. "Is it safe?"

"We'll know in a minute." Wachmann flashed the headlights twice, then after a pause, a third time. Several seconds passed, then an answering light appeared, not from the house, but from the open door of what appeared to be a substantial barn standing close by. "All clear," said Wachmann, and drove into the shelter of the barn.

The man who had returned the signal closed the door behind them. Tall, thin, no longer young, he made a sharp contrast to the sturdy, thickset Wachmann. He greeted his visitors with anxious courtesy.

"You are very late," he said, his speech marked by the faintest trace of a Scandinavian accent.

"Checkpoints," replied Wachmann. "I had to make several detours to avoid them."

The farmer smiled. "We were worried. You take too many risks, Hans."

"No more than necessary." Wachmann opened the rear door of the car, and without comment, helped Martin to climb out. "Our friends are in need of sleep, Willy. It has been a long trip for them."

"Of course," said Willy, turning a kind but searching gaze on the two strangers. "Come into the house. We have food, and a room for you. Hans, will you stay?"

Wachmann shook his head. "There is something I need to discuss with you, once our young friends are settled. But then I have to go back. If I'm absent tomorrow morning, it could cause some trouble."

He followed the others across the farmyard, shivering a little as the cold air touched his skin. The younger boy was coughing again; the sooner he was out of Germany and could receive medical treatment, the better.

As always, Jenny received her visitors with a warm solicitude which was sufficient to allay even Alex's habitual suspicion. His first sight of the farm kitchen, with its old-fashioned furnishings and open fireplace, seemed to render him tongue-tied; he stammered, and his voice shook as he tried to express his thanks.

"Please, sit down," said Jenny. "You must be very hungry."

A plain but substantial meal of cold meat, pickles, bread and butter waited on the table. Wachmann accepted a cup of coffee, but remained by the door, watching as the brothers gradually relaxed in this simple, comfortable place. Martin ate sparingly, despite Jenny's motherly encouragement. It was probably for the best, given his present state of health; and Alex made up for it.

Once he'd satisfied his hunger, however, he pushed his plate to one side. "If you please, Herr Wachmann, what will happen now?" he asked.

There was not so much as a flicker in Wachmann's expression. "You will stay here for a few days, until we can move you to the next station on the escape route. From there you'll travel by stages to the French border. We have a friend working in the Spanish embassy in Paris, he'll meet you there, and provide you with passports identifying you as citizens of his country. Once you have those, you will be able gain passage to any neutral country in Europe, or elsewhere." He paused for a moment, and extracted an envelope from his breast pocket; and his voice sounded a little constrained when he continued. "The goods you entrusted to me have been sold. Naturally, market conditions favour the buyer in cases such as this, so they didn't fetch anywhere close to their true value. But the proceeds will be sufficient to meet your expenses."

He sensed Willy was looking at him, without speaking, and he flushed slightly. He was an accomplished liar, but over the past months this man had learned to read him like a book. Alex, however, accepted the statement at face value, and hardly glanced at the contents of the envelope.

"I'm sure you did the best you could for us, sir," he said diffidently. "I don't know how to thank you for this, and for everything else. If it wasn't for you..."

"Don't thank me," Wachmann interrupted. "There are many people involved in this. I'm just the middle man." He looked away, and the colour in his face deepened. "Martin is almost asleep," he added. "You should go to bed, get some rest. I'll let you know when it's time to move on."

He turned away, making a pretext of opening the door a fraction to check whether all was still clear outside. Jenny was the first to break the embarrassed silence. "If you will come with me, I will show you to your room."

She sent an anxious look at her husband, as she shepherded her guests towards the stairs; and Alex looked back, as if he wanted to say something more. But he held it back, put his hand on his brother's shoulder, and led him off to bed.

For a minute or so, neither man said a word. Willy, with his usual instinct towards neatness, began to clear the table; Wachmann continued to watch the yard outside. The moon had risen while they were at supper, its cold light silvering the earth and throwing long black shadows, like bars, across the ground.

"You didn't sell their things, did you?" asked Willy at last.

He had to wait for an answer. But finally Wachmann sighed. "They will want them back, one day."

"Hans, you cannot keep doing this. How much of your own money have you given away since you began this work?" The old man gazed at him, the sharpness of his tone belied by the deep concern in his manner.

"Very little," replied Wachmann, with a soft, bitter laugh.

"Then how do you do it?" Willy persisted. "You're not involved in anything criminal, are you?"

Given what he was involved in himself, the question was enough to evoke another, more natural laugh. "Don't worry, Willy. I have it under control."

Willy's lips twitched. He put the butter dish down, and came to put a hand on Wachmann's shoulder. "Hans, you try too hard. There's only so much one man can do. Whatever it is you're trying to make up for..."

"That's no concern of yours, Willy. It's in the past." Wachmann shrugged him off, closed the door, and walked across to the fireplace, where he stood looking down at the embers. "We have a more urgent problem. There were more security checkpoints than usual on the road tonight."

"There have been a few incidents recently," said Willy after a pause.

"I know. Bridges sabotaged, factories bombed, trains destroyed. It seems the local Underground people are very well organised." There was a note of grim laughter in his voice, and a glint of something not very nice in his eyes, as he glanced up. Willy saw it, and looked away.

"You know them, don't you?" Wachmann spoke very softly. "Just as you help with what I do, you help the Underground with their activities. Oh, I know, Willy. I've been covering for you for months. I know you are helping them."

"Not with sabotage." Willy still didn't meet his eyes. "But Allied soldiers, trying to get back to their own country - yes, we do help them. You can't object to that."

"I don't object to anything, as long as it doesn't interfere with my own work. A few escaping soldiers, that's nothing. All this destruction is a different matter. It makes the authorities nervous, they start asking questions." Wachmann straightened up, tucking one thumb into his belt. "It has to stop."

Willy hesitated to answer. "Hans, they are just trying to end the war as quickly as possible," he said at last. "In a way they are fighting for the same cause as you."

"No. Perhaps we are on the same side. But not the same cause," replied Wachmann. "I received a message from Leipzig this morning. Another party is waiting to leave. As things stand, I don't know if it's safe for them to come here. But it's certainly not safe for them to delay."

Silence lay between them for almost half a minute.

"Willy, you are in contact with them. You know their leader - his code name is Papa Bear, I believe." Wachmann tilted his head to one side, a slight, humourless smile turning his lips. "You must tell him to cease his activities, at least for a time."

"I don't know if I can do that," Willy broke out. "He would not listen to me, he has his own orders."

"You will have to convince him. Because if he will not stop of his own accord, then I will have to stop him." Wachmann's eyes went back to the dying glow of the fire.

"Hans, listen to me," said Willy, after a few moments. "I understand you feel you must do whatever you can for these people. But we can only help two or three at a time. If the war can be brought to a quick end, it will save thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands. Surely you see that, Hans?"

Wachmann's brow knotted up, as if he were in pain. "What I see is that people like those boys in your guest room will be lost. I can't allow it. I can't."

Before Willy could say anything more, Jenny came back into the kitchen. "The younger boy is already asleep," she said. "His brother was in tears, Willy. I pretended not to see, but I almost wept with him." She held out her hands to him, and he took them in both of his own.

"You must take care of them, Jenny," murmured Wachmann. He had resumed his customary cold demeanour. "I think it would be best if I myself took them to the next station. If there should be further checkpoints, I am the one who will find it easiest to get past them without arousing suspicion. I can easily come up with a reason to go there."

He straightened, bringing his heels together, and gave a little formal bow. "If you will excuse me, it is very late. I should be heading back to Hammelburg."

"Of course," replied Willy. "I will come out with you, to close the barn after you leave. I will be only a few minutes, Jenny."

He waited until they reached the barn before he spoke again. "Hans, please think it through, before you do anything. Perhaps it is time to consider the greater good, rather than individual cases."

Wachmann did not reply. He drove the car out of the barn, and with only a brief backward glance headed for the main road; now he was alone in the car, he could openly travel by the direct route. It was almost three in the morning, and by the time he got to Hammelburg, it would be close to dawn. He'd be lucky if he got an hour's sleep. But that was not unusual, for him.

Soon the farm fell out of sight, as the car followed the curve of the road. Wachmann pulled over to the side, and switched off the motor. For some time he sat in silence, gazing out at the monochromatic landscape, seeing nothing, his whole consciousness absorbed by what Willy had said.

The old man was right. The sooner the Third Reich was torn out of existence, the better. But to give up his work, to allow individual human lives to be destroyed, in the interest of a long-term victory, was more than he was prepared to consider. However many people he might have helped to save, it would never be enough to balance out those he had helped to round up and send to the camps, before his eyes had been opened. He would not willingly allow one more person to suffer the same fate. The Underground, and Papa Bear, must be made to at least moderate their efforts.

As Hans Wachmann, he could have no hope of bringing this about. But Hans Wachmann was just a ghost, an empty name, belonging to no living man. Once he returned to Hammelburg, and re-entered his own life, it would be a very different matter.

Hans Wachmann might not be able to put an end to Papa Bear's activities, but Major Wolfgang Hochstetter of the Gestapo would surely find a way.


End file.
